My Old Friend
by kaitykitkat99
Summary: Sooo, the Doctor and Clara or any of the companions don't actually come into this, just a familiar monster that we all know pretty well...I'll give you a hint, I just watched Angels in Manhattan, so...one-shot, t rated, you know, usual shtuuuuuf


John was sitting, watching the telly, not really expecting anything. It was a normal day at 221B, and so, he never expected to see a stone angel as soon as he got up.

"What-?" he said, blinking. As soon as he opened his eyes, he was no longer in 221B. Actually, he was God knows where, and he had no idea how he got there. A woman, roughly his age, saw the whole thing.

"Whoa Mate, where did you come from?" she asked

"London, uhm, where am I?"

"London? Wow, and you just popped out of nowhere...this is Sussex mate, 1925,"

"1925!?" John exclaimed "No, it was 2013 a minute ago, it can't be 1925!" the woman held out a paper

"See, look for yourself mate, October 9th, 1925," John's eyes widened, and he'd had no idea how he'd gotten here. He ran his hands through his hair, 1925...he'd never be able to get back to Sherlock, ever. He took a deep breath

"What's your name?" he asked the woman

"Mary," she said "Mary Morstan,"

Sherlock walked up the flat, not really expecting anything. He'd just popped down to see Mrs. Hudson for a moment. When he got there, however, something seemed off.

"John?" he said. Usually the ex-army Doctor was sitting in his chair, watching the telly, or reading the newspaper. The telly was on, but John was nowhere in sight. Weird, whenever he left the room he always turned the television off or stopped it, even on commercials. Something indeed was not right. Sherlock went immediately into observation mode, trying to see if John was possibly kidnapped. No, there were no signs of a struggle, and Sherlock hadn't heard any commotion when he was down in Mrs. Hudson's flat. Someone behind him cleared their throat.

"Mr. Holmes?" he said. Sherlock turned around and saw a tall middle aged man, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked like-well he looked like John, just, taller.

"Yes?" Sherlock said

"Well, I was instructed by my granddad to give this to you sir, said it was important sir," the young man said politely, holding out an envelope.

"How did you get in here?"

"With this sir," the man said, holding up an old key "My granddad gave it to me sir, said I'd need it to give this to you," the man held out the letter again, and Sherlock took it.

_Roughly 39 years old, written in 74, I'd say...penmanship looks familiar..._

"What's your name?" Sherlock asked

"Jacob," The man replied "Jacob Watson," he checked his watch "I'd better be going Mr. Holmes," he said, turning to leave. He never muttered another word to Sherlock since that day.

Sherlock grabbed the letter opener from the mantel and sat down at the desk, opening the thick envelope that had pictures and everything in there, of a man that looked exactly like John, with a woman and two children, and of course, a letter, addressed to him.

_Sherlock Holmes:_

_My dearest friend, it has been so long since I've seen you last. For you, well, it's only been a couple of minutes. I wish I could tell you what happened, but not even I know. I feel my life coming to a close as I write this, and I'm afraid I will not see you again, but my grandson will. He may have already told you his name. Well, knowing you, you probably demanded it before opening a strange package from him. As I write this, he's only four, but I'll make sure he gets this to you as soon as possible. Strange, I know, me having a grandson older than you._

_ In the envelope, you'll find pictures of a man who looks just like me. That's because it is me. I met a wonderful woman, as shown in the pictures, Mary Morstan. I think you would've liked her. From the stories I've told her, she definitely thought you were interesting. I miss you, you know...those deductions never ceased to amaze me. You were my greatest friend. I know you hated the moustache that I'd grown during those three years you were gone. Looking back, I laugh when I think about all the times you tried to trick me into shaving, or tried to shave it off yourself. See, that's what makes you the greatest friend I've ever had, me being able to look back on the times you were an annoying git and being able to laugh it off._

_ As I said before, I feel my life coming to a close, and I couldn't be more content. My son has agreed to make sure that Jacob gets this to you, so I know you'll get it. He may just think I'm a crazy old man, but he saw that I meant business and agreed to make sure you got this. I can only hope he kept his word, and that Jacob did as well. So old friend, this is my last goodbye. If you don't believe it's me, then go conduct an experiment for me. In the same cemetery where your fake headstone was, I will be buried there on my own request. You will find my headstone, and probably Mary's too. You know Sherlock, there's just one more thing that I have to thank you for. For being there. I was so alone before, and I owe you so much _

_Your Old Friend,_

_John Watson_

Sherlock read and re-read the letter from John, but no matter how many times he did, he just couldn't believe it. No, this had to be some sort of joke or something. Only one way to find out. He went to the place where he was "buried" and didn't have to look long. For there was the headstone, and it read:

**In Loving Memory of Doctor John Hamish Watson, aged 90 years old**

**Also**

**In Memory of Mary Morstan-Watson, aged 93 years old**

* * *

Sooooo, yeah, that was that, and yeah...I just watched Angels Take Manhattan, so...


End file.
